


And The Crashes Are Heaven

by cerie



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-06 22:05:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerie/pseuds/cerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While they start off on the wrong foot, the courtship of Helen Magnus is a path that, while not smooth, is worth it in the end.  Pre-series, pre Source blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And The Crashes Are Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one time offering, folks. While my pairings of choice are, and always will be, Helen/Will and Helen/James, I admit to having a certain curiosity as to how she and John fell in love and what Helen was like in those days. Having not found anything to my satisfaction among Helen/John first time fics, I wrote it myself.
> 
> Dedicated to Brad, who made me like Druitt, and Sam and Lisa, who encouraged me even though this broke the internet.

When John had solicited the aid of Dr. Magnus for his condition, he had not expected said Dr. Magnus to be a woman. The research he’d done had all pointed to a Dr. _Gregory_ Magnus, an esteemed if eccentric physician. Having reached the end of his patience with the so-called luminaries of London’s medical societies, he would endure any amount of eccentricity if it meant acceptable and efficacious treatment for the illness that had plagued him since he was a child.

He was weak, almost constantly, and while some days were better than others, he still had trouble rising in the morning more often than not. There too was the trouble with bruising and dizziness and moments where he would end up somewhere and not remember what had happened between breakfast and standing in the midst of the street. It was of great concern, especially among a man meant to inherit a good-sized fortune and eventually take a wife, and John had done what he could to hide his issues from society at large.

Dr. Magnus (Gregory, not whoever this creature in front of him was) was said to be discreet in all matters and John had been most adamant on that account; there was no way it could be known that a man of his age and stature was invalid and weak. He’d been let by everyone in the city from surgeon to barber and in between and if there was one thing he wouldn’t subject himself to, it was that. Another was being treated by this woman who was decidedly _not_ the Dr. Magnus he’d solicited.

“I was told Dr. Magnus was a man and I doubt highly anyone could mistake you for that.” Oh, no. No mistake was to be made there. This woman, while older than desirable for marriage and childbearing, still had high breasts and creamy skin. Her hair was golden, framing her face in downy-soft curls and her eyes were bright, intelligent and an impossible shade of blue. Her mouth, though it curved into a frown at the moment that was threatening a pout, was lush and full and the overall effect was of a comely woman even if (or perhaps because of) she were older than most unmarried women tended to be.

“The only Dr. Magnus in residence at the moment is myself,” she said coolly, one golden brow arching as she crossed the room to fetch something from her kit. “As my father is on an extended trip to India. I am happy to have my staff see you on your way, Mr. Druitt, if you cannot abide being treated by a woman. Otherwise, please settle on the table and remove your shirt. I cannot check your heart rate and breathing if you insist upon being dressed.”

Cool, yes, but hiding no small amount of fiery anger. There was a flush high on her cheeks and it was more of a tell than anything he might have deduced from her voice. James hadn’t prepared him for _this_ , exactly, and John smirked as he drew off his shirt. He was wasted from illness, yes, but he knew he was still in possession of a powerful form that most women appreciated. Dr. Magnus did not appear to be most women, as she kept her eyes level on his face. Most curious.

“Most women are quite a bit more excited to see me in such a state.” Magnus, for her part, huffed lightly beneath her breath and stuck some sort of scope in her ears before pressing around on his chest with it. John hadn’t seen one of this variety, before, but consented to remaining still while she fiddled around with it. Seemingly satisfied with her results, she made notations on a bit of paper and went about examining the rest of him with clinical efficiency. With her head tilted down, she asked him a series of questions about his breathing, his energy level, his stamina in any number of activities, including those a delicate nature. John’s lips curved into a small smile.

“You know, it would be much easier to have a conversation with me if you’d look at me. A name, too, might not go remiss. I realize this might be something of a stre...” John didn’t get to finish before Magnus’s head snapped up, cornflower blue eyes gone steely. The flush was back, high on her cheeks, and John wasn’t ashamed to admit he wanted to see more of it and see if it went beneath the high neck of her gown.

“You, Mr. Druitt, are my patient. Now. My analysis tends to make me think that you’ve some sort of blood disease but they’ve been treating it all wrong. I would like, should you be amenable, to attempt a different course of treatment than has been previously offered. It is controversial, of course, but I feel like if you’ve come to me, you must have some measure of desperation. I propose treating you with my blood. I know you’ve been bled before and I do not think this is effective.”

John was inclined to agree. Scars crossed his back from years of the bloodletting, years of feeling weaker and weaker with no real gain. It wasn’t commonly accepted, taking blood from another, but he’d read about it amongst hemophiliacs. It was, if nothing else, something that had not been tried with him before and if it aided him, even a bit, he would be indebted to her and forever grateful. He’d need to get past his own reticence at seeing a female doctor, yes, but Dr. Magnus had seemed competent in this brief meeting. He had confidence that would continue.

“No, it’s not. I’ll try what you propose, then.” Magnus nodded and it shook a few of the curls loose from her chignon; against his better judgment, John wanted to wrap them around his fingers and see if they were as silky and soft as he imagined. She could be formidable, Magnus, but there was a softness and a sweetness beneath that facade that intrigued him. She could drive him mad, if she put her mind to it, and the sad thing was that he didn’t think it even occurred to her.

“Very well. As I need my own blood to survive, we should space out these treatments to every fortnight or so. I shall have to replenish my own strength if I’m to support the both of us and I beg your patience while I try to decide the most effective course of treatment.” She closed her notes and smiled, albeit a ghost of one, and the curve of her lips only served to make her that much more beautiful to his eyes.

“You are far more winsome when you smile, Dr. Magnus. You should try it more often. It might make you look less a spinster and more a proper woman.”

Poor word choice, in hindsight, and Magnus spun on her heel to leave the room. She didn’t turn around when she addressed him, words cool and clipped even if there was a hint of heated temper beneath them.

“Good _day_ , Mr. Druitt, and I will see you in a fortnight.”

***

“You didn’t tell me Magnus was a woman.” James, if he were shocked, let nothing of it show on his face. He was settled in a leather armchair at the club, snifter of brandy in one hand and pipe in the other. James liked to pass his evenings at the club watching the patrons, more than anything else, and it benefited John when he got too intoxicated to stumble his way home alone.

Normally, John would have company; there were any number of women for hire at the club and he was a well-loved patron of the arts but none of the women on offer were sweet and lush by turns like Magnus. She’d gotten under his skin, somehow, and he meant to excise her with drink until such a point where he could forget about what it would be like to take her to bed. He was making decent headway.

“I didn’t find it relevant. Besides, her father is a surgeon as well and I did originally refer you to him. I was unaware he was predisposed in India. Helen is a fine physician, though, you’re in capable hands.” It was airy with a hint of amusement and John frowned, decidedly unamused by James and his machinations. Like as not, he’d done it on purpose, and John so abhorred his games. He hadn’t the patience for them.

“Helen? Is that what she’s called, then? She never told me.” He’d imagined any number of names from mundane Mary to exotic Sophie-Anne and he was pleased to have a proper name to assign to the woman who’d haunted his thoughts these past days. Helen. It was fitting, a face to launch a thousand ships, and he liked the way it felt on his tongue. He _wanted_ to know how she felt on his tongue but that was precisely what he was trying _not_ to think about.

“Like as not, she didn’t find it relevant,” James said, eyes sparkling. “You won’t find it easy, John. Helen hasn’t responded to any attempts at an overture in recent history. That one is completely focused on her work and always has been. I’ve known her ever since she was a girl and any attempt by me or anyone else to court her has been an exercise in futility. Go find a girl who favors her and get it out of your system.”

John made a face. The problem was that he’d searched for that very thing and he wasn’t going to be able to find it in the halls of a gambling club or in the seedy alleyways of late-night London. Helen Magnus was a highborn woman and, all told, untouched. While many a whore could play at blushing, John had never been so despicable as to seek out an actual virgin. It could be bought, of course. Anything could be bought for a price, yes, but it was beneath him to stoop that low.

Innocent had never particularly appealed to him. In this, Helen was an anomaly and even though she might be uninitiated in the ways of a man’s bedroom, she was no blushing bride. She was a woman with years of life experience, with intelligence and poise, and it simply wasn’t something found in London at all, much less poorly replicated by a lady plying her trade on her back. No. He wouldn’t be seeking out a surrogate. He meant to have the real thing.

“I’ll pass. Tell me about her, then? About her upbringing and her family?” The house he’d visited had been stately but for a woman to seek out a career outside the home, well. Something had gone awry in the normal state of things for that development to have occurred and John meant to know what it was. James was well-known for knowing any and everything on nearly every subject beneath the sun and John hoped that extended to one Helen Magnus.

“And why should you care? You don’t intend to woo her,” James said, laughing and damn near spilling his brandy in the process. He had a look upon his face as if he knew everything and while that was often true, it wasn’t in this instance. John wanted to knock the smirk from James’ mouth with his fist but he wanted the man to be able to speak, so he stayed his hand.

“How do you know what I intend? I’ve never met a woman like Helen before.” James laughed harder, finally conceding to putting the brandy away before leaning in. He looked like he’d landed a prize fish, the way his eyes gleamed, and John barely refrained, yet again, from striking him. Smug, arrogant bastard. It was a pity that John was actually fond of him more often than not.

“Oh, so it’s Helen now? Well, you don’t intend to woo _Helen_. She didn’t fall at your feet today and your ego’s been stung. You mean to seduce her into your bed and have her and once you have, you’ll grow bored with her and put her aside. I’m not terribly against it. It’s a crime nobody’s done it before now. Still, you ought to go about it the right way and not string her along. If she comes into it with open eyes and accepts your proposition, so be it. But I won’t have you making her think you have feelings for her and hurting her.”

It stung to think James thought so little of him but he’d known the man since they were both boys in school. If anyone knew him and his habits, it was James Watson, and John had never made any real attempts at seeking out a wife. He knew he must, eventually, but the nature of his condition made it where he didn’t want to burden anyone with the responsibility of caring for him during his weak times. It was easier to seek things out when he felt hale and healthy and discard them when he did not.

“I won’t be taking her against her will, if that’s what you mean. I’ll come to her plainly with my intentions and if she accepts, it will be her own decision. In the meantime, if I so choose to send the woman a few courting gifts, I don’t think that’s entirely against convention. If it is, God defend me from widows who intend to break my skull with etiquette books.”

James shook his head. “Suit yourself. You’re just in for an uphill battle that probably will have few, if any, appreciable results.”

John really, _really_ hated when James was right. He meant to prove him wrong.

***

It was some two months later when he saw Helen Magnus outside of their clinical visits and it was most unexpected, if delightful. It was some party given by a lesser earl with far more money than he had sense and the idea of it, more or less, was a night on Olympus. John tired quickly of these social engagements and especially those that required him to wear little more than a bedsheet in someone’s garden but spotting Helen across the way had lifted his mood considerably.

Her hair cascaded loose down her back in a riot of golden ringlets, held only by some sort of simple jewelry at her crown. Her _peplos_ was, understandably, quite a bit more modest than an actual woman in Ancient Greece would wear but it still afforded him a lovely view of her throat and shoulders and the blue complimented her eyes in a handsome way. Her skin was creamy pale and dusted with freckles; John thought, if this went well, he might very well follow the map etched on her skin and see what treasures he found.

He snagged two glasses of champagne from a passing servant and meant to steal her away to talk but as he drew closer, he realized she was conversing with their host for the evening and the other man was standing far too close. He reached out and brushed his hand against Helen’s neck, causing her to bristle and when she went to move away, the Earl clamped his hand down on her wrist. This wouldn’t do.

“I believe the woman wishes to be left alone. Helen, shall I dispose of him for you? Come, sit with me, we’ll have a drink.” Helen, already angered, spun to face him. She was a tall woman and still didn’t approach his own height; he could tuck her beneath his chin without much trouble at all. He found that he had a desire to do that very thing, if she allowed it.

“I can fight my own battles, Mr. Druitt, and the Earl was about to take his leave.” Her voice was steel and John hoped it was the situation more than his own presence. He’d only meant to help Helen, not anger her further. The Earl, it seemed, had little perception of just how sour things had gone and stepped closer, wrapping an arm around Helen and leaning in to, presumably, kiss her.

Champagne glasses clattered to the grass as John wrenched the man away from Helen, his fist connecting in a satisfying way with the earl’s nose. There was the crunch of bone and cartilage and bright blood sprayed against his white tunic. It was just as well. John hated fancy dress parties and if his chiton was ruined, he wouldn’t be subjected to them any longer. It was one thing, when he studied the Classics and fancied himself Aristotle, but quite another as a grown man.

“Bloody hell, John Druitt, _stop_! If I wanted him bleeding out at his own garden party, I would have struck him myself. You’ve proven your point admirably.” The earl had gotten very few strikes in, but it was enough that John thought he’d have a miserable headache in the morning. Helen’s shrieking would do little to aid that but he was fond of Helen, very much so, and he’d endure it.

“If you’re quite done assaulting our host, I would like to go home. I trust you have a coach waiting?” John did, actually, and without a thought, he wrapped an arm around her waist to escort her out. They’d made quite the scene and all of London would be abuzz in the morning, but John hardly cared. Whatever the earl had said to her and whatever overture he’d made was not wanted and Helen, while holding her ground at first, had seemed to flounder. John had needed to step in.

The ride back to Helen’s home was notable only because of her frigid silence and it was to be expected. Helen tolerated him on the best of days and while a typical woman might swoon at the thought of being rescued by a dashing, handsome hero, Helen was no typical woman. She was a maddening creature of her own design and utterly unpredictable. It was dizzying and delightful all at once and John simply wanted more.

They’d turned the corner to her street when she spoke, voice softer and kinder than he’d ever really heard it. 

“Thank you. He was intoxicated, but he meant to have me, and I could hardly hide a pistol in my costume. If it wouldn’t be a terrible inconvenience, I should like to patch your wounds before sending you home? A pot of tea might not be out of the question either.” Her tongue had snuck out to brush against her lower lip and John couldn’t restrain himself any longer. 

He laid a hand on her shoulder, thumb brushing against one of those freckles he’d come to adore, and he leaned in to take that lush mouth for his own. She lifted her hands and pressed them against his shoulders as if to push him away but curled them against the fabric of his chiton instead. Taking that as encouragement, he deepened the kiss and buried his hand in her hair, bringing her that much closer. Helen made a whimper in the back of her throat and pulled away, cheeks flushed and mouth rosier and fuller than he’d ever seen it before. She touched her fingers to her lips and it threatened to drive him even more mad than usual.

“That was unexpectedly pleasant. I...I should go, Mr. Druitt.”

John laughed a little and brushed his hand back against her cheek. There had been passion in her kiss and a curiosity he’d never really encountered with a woman before. She’d pulled away, yes, but she’d been curious about what could happen between them and accepted his kiss willingly. She hadn’t been prudish or skittish and John could only take that as encouragement to take more from her, in time.

“I’m holding you to tea, eventually. Would you like me to walk you up?” He wouldn’t normally ask but Helen was a strange creature about her independence. With her so amenable to his touch now, John hardly wanted to step backward. She shook her head.

“Ah, no, I can manage. Thank you, again, Mr. Druitt, you’ve been most kind.”

John leaned in and brushed his lips against her forehead, chaste where their earlier kiss had really not been. He kissed each of her cheeks, then her nose. “You may call me John, Helen. There’s no sense in maintaining formality.”

It was soft, and he barely caught it, but just as she moved across him to exit the carriage, he heard a whispered, “Thank you, John.”

***

Tea, it seemed, was happening sooner rather than later. It had been barely a week since the party incident and a calling card had been sent around to his house from Helen, inviting him to supper on Saturday evening at six, sharp. He laughed a bit at the precise time; apparently Helen feared he wouldn’t be punctual even though he’d always shown up early for their medical appointments.

Appointments which, thus far, had gone very well. John felt healthier than he had in years and he didn’t know if it was the efficacy of Helen’s prescribed treatments or Helen herself. She always had a bruise at the bend of her elbow from where she drained herself to sustain him and John meant to kiss it, meant to show her just how much it meant to him that she would be so selfless.

He had anticipated supper with her father and was pleasantly surprised that the elder Dr. Magnus was still abroad. It seemed he and Helen would be alone this evening and the chance to woo her, to spend some measure of time with her without a chaperone buzzing around - it was more than he could have hoped. A servant showed him to a private, intimate drawing room and John had to wonder if her bedroom were nearby. It might be relevant for the balance of the evening.

John had settled at the table and was fiddling idly with his cufflinks when she came down the stairs. The dress was decidedly not something a woman would wear to tea and was, instead, a confection of cobalt blue silk that clung to every curve. Her throat and ears were circled in sapphires and her eyes shone. Her smile was dazzling, wide, and there was a dimple on one side of it that he’d never seen before.

She was absolutely stunning.

He rose to meet her at the door and escort her to her chair, hating it was a long table and she was far away from him. He managed to be genteel and charming, though it was a struggle, and wished he had James’ silver tongue instead of his own sharp one. Helen didn’t seem to mind, though, all laughs and smiles this evening and when the last course had been polished off and the candles burned low, she rose and tugged off her gloves. She seemed nervous in a way she hadn’t all evening and John frowned. What could be troubling her?

Her blush was always her tell and in this, it was no different. He saw where it traveled down her neck and chest and he wondered what he could have said to catch her so off guard. Her eyes were downcast, golden lashes fanning against her cheek, and her words were soft and unsure. It simply wasn’t like her.

“I don’t entirely know how to ask you for what I want,” she began, teeth flashing out to worry her lower lip. It only served to distract him when he was trying to pay attention and John drew closer and tipped her chin up so he could look into her eyes. She had beautiful eyes, kind and intelligent by turns, and he wished they weren’t darting around nervously at the moment.

“Well, typically, one begins with ‘John, may I ask a favor of you,’ and then I presumably say yes. Helen, what is it?”

She took in a shaky little breath and laughed. It was endearing and he kept her close within the circle of his arms. Unless it was something ridiculous, he would likely grant her request, and ridiculous took on a bit of a wide definition when it came to things he would and wouldn’t do for Helen Magnus.

“I want you to take me to bed but I don’t...the earl wanted me as his mistress and I don’t want that. I don’t want to be kept and one of many. I want...if it’s not too much trouble, could you love me, John? Please? And just me and no others? I understand if it’s too much, I do, and I won’t ask you to marry me.”

John laughed. It was so damned laughable of her to think he didn’t love her after he’d been patient these past months in getting her to even tolerate him, much less fall in love with him. He hadn’t anticipated falling in love, no, but Helen Magnus was a different creature than any he’d ever had the good fortune of meeting before and he’d fallen like a stone for her. He kissed her gently before responding.

“I think I might possibly find it in myself to love you, you infuriating woman. For such a brilliant woman, you’re really quite blind when it comes to affection. I love you, Helen, and there is no way I could take you to my bed without loving you. As to there being others, there hasn’t been another since I met you and there won’t be so long as I can have you.” 

Helen smiled, sweet, and tangled her fingers with his. They were crossing a threshold this evening, the two of them, and John hadn’t felt this good about going to bed with someone in a long while. She led him to her bedroom, a cheery affair covered in bright blue velvets and delicate lace, and stood nervously before her vanity.

“I don’t quite know what I should do. Shall I undress for you, is that the way we should...?”

For all she was curious and seemed excited, Helen seemed nervous too and this was something John had little experience with. He didn’t lay with virgins, ever, and hadn’t since he was a boy. Care would need to be taken with Helen and he’d need to initiate her into this gently so that she wasn’t frightened or came away misliking this particular act. Lovemaking could, and would, be a pleasurable experience for Helen Magnus.

“No, I’m of a mind to undress you myself. Perhaps next time, you can undress the both of us?” John turned her, undoing the long line of buttons down her back before pushing her dress off her shoulders. He kissed the nape of her neck, unable to resist her, before his fingers found her stays and worked to tug them loose. Helen’s breath hitched when that garment fell away and there was little else between him and her skin aside from chemise and petticoat. Those were easier by far and when her clothes were all pooled at her feet, he caught her shoulders and turned her to face him.

“Do you like what you see?”

It was foreign that he wouldn’t. Helen was statuesque with perfect breasts and lush hips covered in skin smooth as porcelain. The freckles did, in fact, travel all along her body and John bent his head to kiss and suck at one on her left shoulder that had been teasing him for some time. When he lifted his head again, Helen’s eyes were hazy and lidded, threatening to close. He kissed her forehead and made to walk around her, admiring all the curves bared to him. 

“You are the most exquisite woman I’ve ever seen, Helen. Of course I like what I see. Take your hair down for me?” Helen’s mouth formed a tiny, perfect “o” as if she’d forgotten her hair was still pinned up and she tugged at ivory pins, letting them clatter to the hardwood floor with little of her normal, careful precision. Her hair streamed down her shoulders and hung to her waist, covering her breasts, but John could see the hardened, rosy peaks of her nipples even through that. Intoxicating woman.

She seemed less nervous and John took that opportunity to undress, albeit less carefully than he’d undressed her. That done, he drew her down to the bed and lay propped on his hip so he could gaze at her and play with her. He’d done this in any manner of ways before: hard, soft, fast, slow, in semi-public...and yet, it felt like a new dance with Helen. He brushed her hair back so it spread across the pillows and traced his hand along the curve of her breast. Helen’s mouth twisted into a frown as she whimpered and John muffled his laugh against her soft skin.

“Impatient, are we? Turnabout is only fair. You’ve been torturing me for months, Helen.” She made a noise in the back of her throat that started out cross but when he fitted his mouth against her nipple and laved it with his tongue, that sound slid into a whimper and a sigh. She liked that, then, and it was just as well he was fond of it too. He teased one peak into stiffness, then the other, before lifting his head to look into her eyes.

“I want to touch you now. I trust you’re familiar with how this works, yes? I mean to make it easier on you.” Helen nodded and John sighed in relief, albeit inwardly. He’d hoped, with her being a physician, that he wouldn’t have to explain the swift, sharp pain of a first time and that she wouldn’t be frightened when she felt him pressing at her. He shifted down the bed and laid a kiss over her navel before pillowing his cheek against her left hip. Depending on what she liked, he might go a bit further, but as it was, he wanted to see himself touching her.

Helen was already slick and when he slid his fingers to play in the warmth between her thighs she arched and begged him for more. A minx, his Helen, and while she was begging for it, he was slow about easing his finger inside. She was tight and her body stiffened at the intrusion. John brushed his thumb against her clitoris in a lazy, slow circle to try and relax her.

“No, sweetheart, you mustn’t clamp down. It will go easier if you’ll let me. Relax?” Helen took in a few breaths and nodded, a sheen of sweat sticking her curls to her forehead. When he felt her relax a little, he slid over and fitted his mouth against her and crooked his finger, eliciting the sweetest sound of shock from her lips. She was so responsive, his Helen, and he pressed another finger into her before sucking and teasing her with lips, tongue and the barest hint of his teeth once he felt the first waves of her orgasm clenching around his fingers. Once he was certain she’d finished, he withdrew his fingers and wiped them against the sheets before moving to cover her.

“John, I love you. I know it must seem so quick, to love you, but I love you.” John kissed her mouth even as he parted her thighs a bit wider to settle between them. She’d accepted his fingers easily enough but his cock was quite a different story and the intrusion would, likely, still cause some pain even though she was loose, relaxed and aroused. He guided himself to her entrance, shifting his hips so he pressed against her without sliding in fully.

“And I love you. This will hurt, and I don’t mean it to. Whatever you do, don’t resist me. If you want this, you must relax and let it happen.” Helen caught his mouth in a sweet, unexpected kiss and John tipped his hips to take her. She did stiffen beneath him and he tried to distract her with the kiss, nipping at her lower lip and plundering her mouth as to keep her from thinking about the pain between her thighs. Once he settled in her completely, though, he broke away from her mouth and buried his face against her neck.

“My God, Helen. You feel amazing.” She laughed, a shaky little sound, and when her hips moved beneath his, it was John’s turn to gasp and tremble. He hadn’t entirely expected to have so much _emotion_ tied up in the experience and while Helen was the virgin, he felt like he was the one learning something. They found a rhythm, though it was nowhere near perfect, and it wasn’t terribly long before he lost himself in her and everything went white hot with pleasure.

***

Helen was quiet afterward, contemplative, and her hand stroked lazily through his hair while he cleaned her with a bit of cloth and drew her into his arms. When she hadn’t spoken in some time, he feared she’d fallen asleep, and when he saw she hadn’t, he kissed the corner of her mouth playfully.

“You’re quiet. Here I figured you’d be babbling at me about what you want to try next. Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

Helen shook her head. “No, nothing of the sort. Nothing more than the necessary pains. No, I simply...I simply never thought I would have something like this and now that I do, I realize that I must consult you about my plans for the future and it...I’m not asking permission, mind, but I mean to take classes at Oxford with you and James. Is that acceptable?”

John laughed and kissed her soundly. “No, it’s actually completely unacceptable. That said, I think it’s a splendid idea. And Helen?”

She looked up, a sweet smile curving her mouth. “Yes, John?”

“You never have to ask my permission. Beg forgiveness after the fact, certainly, but never permission.”

She settled back against her pillows, smug, and looked, for all intents and purposes, entirely pleased. John hoped she always would be.


End file.
